


The First Cut

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Dishonored (Video Game), Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Breathplay, Face-Fucking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7968886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you wish to do business with Bundry Rothwild, you must make the first cut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Cut

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** : "so. bundry rothwild/daud, facefucking and breathplay >:3c "
> 
>  **Tumblr URL:** carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com

_“You ever cut the belly of a whale?”_

If you wish to do business with Bundry Rothwild, you must make the first cut. 

There is blood raining down on Daud’s mask and clothes, the warmth overwhelming and steaming off of his body. Whales have always held a sacred role with The Outsider, always present in the form of polished runes and sightings in The Void. To be so close to such a behemoth is, initially, humbling, but to give the first cut across its belly? It’s cathartic. 

Daud enjoys it more than he should, but that’s because he’s brutally taking each year wasted on The Outsider through each pound of flesh removed.

When Daud first lost The Outsider’s interest he panicked. Losing this supernatural constant in his life made him realize how dependent he has become to his dark benefactor. As time passed, the mourning period twisted into bitterness. Their reunion, after the Empress’ death, has done nothing to improve the relationship. The cool observations of tightropes, blood, and the possibility of holding some interest has left him wounded and sour.

Even though he has walked his way here because of the name Delilah, he has no interest in pursing it any further than that.

The whale sings as he drives the saw in his hand further upward, a disgusting sort of thrill humming through his veins in accompaniment. He can feel the flesh of the whale resist each drag of the blade and it only encourages him to drive deeper, throwing his weight against each movement. Daud knows he has done enough. He has fulfilled the requirements needed to have an audience with Rothwild, but he digs his feet further into the slop of tumbling bits of flesh and blood, rooting himself into the killing floor. 

Daud finds intimacy with each laborious drag of the saw across thick skin. There is something otherworldly and personal in this desecration of this whale, and whether in a show of defiance, autonomy, revenge, or something else, Daud allows this baptism in blood.

The assassin comes to a stop when his arms burn with exertion, his throat ache as if he has been screaming — _has he?_ — and the weight of the saw starts to push him deeper into the humid swamp of blood underneath him. He can feel his body shake and he feels deadly underneath the layers of blood and gear. 

“Not bad. Let me know if you’re looking for a change in careers,” a voice cuts through, Daud turning to find Bundry standing near the edge of the trench. He makes a motion for Daud to come up before he’s turning to a passing butcher. When Daud finally meets Bundry on the same level, drenched in blood, he finds a butcher taking the saw, the heavy whale oil keeping it fueled, and the mask. He feels lighter and clean, Daud snorting in amusement at the passing thought. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the larger man grins down at Daud in his suit, extending his hand and grabbing Daud’s bloodied, gloved hand in a firm shake. 

Something about it leaves Daud humming with approval. 

“Get a good look at the work you’ve done so far,” Rothwild begins, motioning back to the whale. Daud turns to face it, watching its near white belly, now, colored in differing shades of red. A dark, lonesome eye finds him and Daud is waiting for something — someone — to appear. It doesn’t come. 

“I ask everyone, if they wish to do business with myself, to give the first cut. It’s easy to enjoy the spoils, but to drive a saw to start the process? To kill a beast larger than yourself — to master it. You do that and I know we can do business,” Rothwild explains, eyeing Daud’s work with an appreciative grin.

Daud remains quiet, watching what looks like an intestine attempting to slip out of the deep wound he inflicted. It’s not wide enough, leaving the whale nearly bulging, singing louder. Maybe it’s Rothwild’s praise or just the adrenaline that has come with the physical exertion it takes to split such a creature open, but an obscene rush settles deep in his gut and groin. 

“Satisfied?” Daud finally asks, turning back to Rothwild.

“More than you know.”

*******

Daud is given the chance to clean himself in the showers and replace the bloodied butchers’ smock and attire worn. He still smells of blood and it’s not as unpleasant as it usually is.

Rothwild offers him a glass of scotch in his office, taking a seat behind his desk. Daud eyes it, leaving it untouched. The larger man seems hardly bothered by it, pouring himself a glass. 

“Impressed with what you can do with a saw,” Bundry compliments, raising his glass to Daud before taking a greedy sip. “It’s not everyday The Knife of Dunwall pays the slaughterhouse a visit, let alone the killing floor. I’m gathering you’re responding to the word I put out regarding my help with a… _civil matter?”_

Daud gives a nod, “Yes.”

“If you didn’t notice on your way in, not all of my laborers are with us today. Found out my foreman, Ms. Ames, put together a little strike. Put at least a week’s worth of work behind schedule,” Rothwild begins, matter-of-factly, before his mouth is splitting wide into a smug grin, leaning forward with unbridled contempt, “I… _encouraged_ her to talk. Found out that one of my competitors, Jack Ramsey, is behind the fucking mess I’m in with the laborers.” 

The assassin wonders if that’s why the scent of burnt flesh sits heavy near the entrance of the slaughterhouse.

“You want me to handle Ramsey,” Daud supplies.

The larger man finishes his drink and returns the glass to his desk. He holds up an index finger, clarifying, “I want you to give Ramsey a message.” 

“You want me to threaten hi — ”

“ _No_ ,” Rothwild cuts in dangerously, index finger, now, pointing at him, “I want you to kill Ramsey, but we both know how you really kill a man. You kill his family.”

Daud thinks of the bodyguard of the Empress, the way his features slackened and his body sagged the minute his blade pulled out of the Empress. Dead eyes. He killed the bodyguard in that moment in a way that no blade to the throat or bullet to the head could ever accomplish. To kill another family, again, and for Rothwild to ask him of it… There is a brief flash of paranoia before it’s smothered down by irritation, finding himself, unintentionally, barring his teeth to Rothwild. 

Daud covers it by, finally, taking his glass of scotch, liquid searing his throat. 

“I give you till the end of next week, if you accept. If it is done, you will be paid for your services,” the larger man continues, studying him with a knowing expression. 

“I want you to remember what it was like to cut into that behemoth behind you. There are men and there are men that are like these beasts. Men can be taken down by gunfire or sword, but the men like those whales… You cut them open and you let them bleed out. That’s how you kill them.” Rothwild wags a finger at him, already moving to fetch the bottle of scotch, “You remember how it felt to give the first cut, Daud.”

*******

Daud thinks of them as one singular whale — or rather, the thick flesh on the underside of Rothwild’s whales. It takes compartmentalizing, denial, petty spite towards a fickle entity, and that rush felt in the slaughterhouse to successfully take down Jack Ramsey. Each family member is a spot on the whale’s underbelly or one of the heavy-bearing organs that sit just beneath the skin. One a kidney. The other part of the lower intestine. The final one the stomach. They’re just bits and pieces of a larger creature he won’t ever quite touch.   He even found an easier way to cut out the presence of having a live audience like he had with the Empress. He took a more subtle route: he gave the family the plague while Ramsey was out for business.

It’s easy to give diseased flesh with servants so low in number thanks to plague and lack of funds. Tuck it within cured meat, break it down into the custard served at morning, and they are sick by week’s end. Daud doesn’t witness the changes nor does he sit and watch the guards drag the sick wife and two children out by their hair. Not once does his blade go unsheathed. 

A part of him waits for The Outsider to appear; to share that he is impressed. He never shows.   
Rothwild is impressed in The Outsider’s stead, stretching in his chair after hours, nursing a glass of scotch. This time, Daud accepts the offered drink from the start, embracing the burn racing down his throat. It tastes like purposeful ignorance and denial. 

“Heard Mrs. Ramsey and her two boys were sent on off in those plague wagons yesterday,” the larger man starts conversationally, lips curled into smirk. “Damn shame they caught the plague.” Rothwild laughs, the sound more like a harsh bark. Daud can’t put a name to how he feels about the situation, restless in his seat, but far from interested in returning to the hideout. 

“Real clever work there, Daud,” Bundry continues, rising to his feet and placing his glass down. He moves to the safe next to the desk, winding it open and removing a small box underneath. The box is set on the desk and the safe is locked, Rothwild remaining standing as he opens the box, revealing gold bars. “Payment, as promised.” The box is closed and pushed closer to the assassin.

Daud only eyes it, gloved fingers tight around his glass. He should leave, but he remains put. 

Rothwild moves to sit on the edge of the desk, closer to Daud, peering down at him from his perch.

“Don’t be ashamed to admit that a part of you enjoyed it,” the larger man adds, after a moment of silence. “Any man can shove a blade in another man’s gut. I told you that. You know it better than most. You found a smarter way to give that first cut and to something larger than yourself.” Daud shifts in his seat, still unwilling to touch the gold that sits on the desk. “The butchers don’t feel it anymore when those behemoths sing or when they spill their blood. I still feel it, though. So do you.” 

Daud has Rothwild by his throat before he can realize he’s moving, rising and grabbing at the man in one fluid movement. However, the intent is missing, nothing but questionable weight against the man’s massive neck. It’s met with another bark of laughter and Rothwild’s own hand returning the favor. While Daud’s fingers are nothing but a poor warning on the younger male’s skin, Bundry’s is all weight and heat. Air is cut off and, still, he does nothing. 

Daud lets his heart beat a wild tattoo in his ears, blood rushing into his face. 

“Not the wisest of moves there, Daud,” Rothwild comments with a chuckle, his other hand moving to find Daud’s wrist, pulling his hand off of his throat with ease. Daud lets himself be moved, baring his teeth out of curtesy toward himself. “There is nothing to prove. You see what you need to do and you do it. It’s just business,” he adds, Rothwild’s voice nothing but a whisper in comparison to the roar of his pulse. 

The comment oddly soothes him, even as the hand on his throat tightens its grip. Rothwild’s touch feels deserving, revolted at himself and the younger man’s truth. 

Rothwild’s grip slackens and Daud breathes, sinking back into his chair. His blood is, now, humming and he can hear the sound of the whales singing from afar as an echo. It’s a strange reminder, body incredibly warm and winded, Rothwild’s handprint a heated aftermath on his throat. It’s not an unpleasant sensation and Bundry appears to share the same sentiment. 

Daud doesn’t miss the way one of Rothwild’s hands has moved to the front of his trousers, unabashedly rubbing at his groin in front of him, far too excited over his own handprint and power. He sees what he wants and he takes it, Rothwild’s words evident in the way he’s gripping his own cock through his trousers. “You know, Daud, you’re just like one of those whales. The same ones I hear singing to me at night,” Rothwild comments, rolling his shoulders back, positioning himself in front of him. “It’s a shame I wasn’t the one to give that first cut,” he laments, fingers fiddling with his belt, pulling the leather free, “but if you’re itchin’ to beat yourself up about a simple transaction, who am I to stop you?”

Rothwild returns a hand to Daud’s neck, crowding his space to reach and whether out of intrigue, guilt, or a masochistic thrill, he bares his throat. Oxygen leaves him, watching with half-closed eyes Bundry wrestle his cock out of his trousers with one hand. The man’s already hard, hardly ashamed of himself or the turn of events. Instead, he rocks forward, the head of his cock pushing into the corner of Daud’s mouth before careening right toward his cheek. 

A thick hand wraps around his cock, letting his cock slap against Daud’s unshaven cheek until the older male is giving a disgruntled glare. 

Rothwild laughs and loosens his grip on Daud’s throat, the sound of greedy gulps for air filling the room. The younger male urges his cock inside of Daud’s mouth as he struggles to refill his lungs. His cock forces him to open his mouth wider, feeling his jaw already ache. There is the heavy taste of salt on his tongue and the scent of Rothwild thick in the air. The larger male doesn’t bother to ease himself into Daud’s mouth, he promptly pushes his cock deeper, ignoring the choked sound of protest. The pain is a welcomed reprieve and distraction, however, thick fingers curling in his hair, Rothwild helping himself to shallowly thrusting into Daud’s mouth. 

His thoughts drift to The Outsider. Images of a nightmarish twist of those whales floating in The Void, The Outsider’s eyes, and that first cut on its belly. Rothwild’s grip returns to his throat and coupled with The Outsider, his cock swells with interest.

Daud can’t quite find a way to adjust to Rothwild’s girth. The ache in his jaw doesn’t seem to fade into numbness and the head of Rothwild’s cock feels thick and lodged in the back of his throat, Daud losing oxygen for seconds that feel far longer, leaving him digging his fingers into his knees. He can feel part of his vision darken around the edges, as if he’s tugging at The Void to use one of his many gifts, but the lightheaded sensation reminds him this is far from it. 

“You hear them, right?” Bundry asks, referencing to the stringed up whales not too far from there. The fingers in his hair give a brutal yank, pulling Rothwild’s cock deeper into his throat, nose buried in his pubic hair. He’s instinctually choking, jaw roaring with pain as he struggles to both remember to breathe through his nostrils and not clamp his teeth down in retaliation. A strangled groan leaves him, vision darkening further, and Rothwild answers with a hungry sound. “Just listen to them sing,” he croons and he’s pulling his cock out of Daud’s mouth with a wet pop, hand leaving his throat.

Daud coughs and deeply breathes, uncaring for the saliva that is dripping from his mouth. He sucks in a few lungfuls of air before Rothwild is pushing himself back into Daud’s mouth, pushing it open with his fingers. A hand returns to his hair, tugging on it, Rothwild taking to slamming forward in a few quick thrusts. Without warning, something warm is filling his mouth and Daud swallows out of instinct, earning a guttural sound from Rothwild in approval. 

Rothwild eases himself out of Daud’s mouth, taking his time in tucking himself back into his trousers and doing up his belt. “Like I said,” Bundry begins, pawing at his vest and jacket until he’s procuring a cigar, “don’t be ashamed if you enjoyed it.” The statement is joined with a lewd grin that Daud can’t quite meet with his eyes. His jaw aches, but he refuses to nurse it in front of Rothwild. 

The larger man gives a dismissive gesture with his hand as he lights the cigar. “Stay if you want. I have a whole bottle of scotch to finish before I turn in for the night,” Rothwild adds, something smug about the invitation that has Daud itching with annoyance. The Void, the whales, and blades deep in bellies, nightmarish runoff surrounding it all flickers in his mind’s eye, brief and scant… Daud works his jaw, carefully, and clears his throat. 

“Just pour me another glass.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
